


Riptide

by Star_on_a_Staff



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Languages, Languages and Linguistics, Mutual Attraction, Partial Nudity, Post-Canon, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Sensuality, Sexual Tension, Swimming, Touching, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:15:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29815887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_on_a_Staff/pseuds/Star_on_a_Staff
Summary: “Come now,” Petra teases as she turns back in the water, the waves licking her powerful thighs as she wrings her hair free. “You can’t be swimming in a shirt, Ashe.”“You just want to see me without one,” he mumbles, shy.Or: Petra takes Ashe swimming in the ocean and they kind of do more than just swim. No smut, but sensuality is had! Petra/Ashe, post canon.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Petra Macneary
Comments: 10
Kudos: 27





	Riptide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThePrimeOne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePrimeOne/gifts).



> This is for Prime, because I promised him an Ashe/Petra fic where, and I quote from myself, "Petra teases an extremely flustered Ashe over how fucking built he is", because archers are canonically and IRL ripped as all HELL. I hope you like it!!!
> 
> Also I can't swim IRL so if I took too many liberties feel free to correct my landlubber ass in the comments XD
> 
> Enjoy!

If ever there was a spell to capture a moment’s instance within a painting in an instance, Petra would give her entire treasury to the mage who could immortalize the expression of sheer awe and wonder that crosses Ashe’s face. 

“I’ve heard stories about the ocean’s size,” he breathes, gripping the reins of his unimpressed stallion, “but this is…!”

They’ve battled on beaches before, glimpsing bits of the ocean enshrouded with fog and conjured mists that mimicked the gauze of marine layers. But back then, there weren't chances for sightseeing, not when mages flung dark magic at them from beyond the waves or lurked within the treeline bristling with spears. 

Here, the oceans of Brigid dazzle in their lushness. The sun is fierce and bright, throwing diamond-bright glimpses of light back into their faces, but Spirits, Petra thinks the flare of wonder in Ashe’s eyes outshines the sea in all of its radiance. 

“It’s glorious, no?” She laughs as she vaults off of Eoin’s back. “Come, you must be taking off your shoes. There is nothing like the feel of sand between the fingers of your feet.”

“Toes, Petra,” Ashe corrects her in a bit of a daze, and as she repeats the word to herself, he slides off Roland’s saddle and carefully guides him to where the sand is more packed and better for the hooves. Petra just whistles to Eoin and the bull wyvern trumpets, taking off to wheel in lazy, uninterrupted circles around the sky as she quickly begins shucking off her boots. 

“Race you!” Ashe calls, already bolting for the shore, and she sputters and hastily unbinds her waistcoat and belt as he bolts off ahead of her, leaving his boots and jackets in his wake. 

“You are being unfair!” Petra shouts after him, but he’s already knee-deep in ocean water, kicking up the froth and the weeds as he laughs, a silvery vision in the sunlight. 

Spirits, at this rate she’s going to be naming his order of knights something far too intimate. Petra shakes off her trance and joins him in the water.

“I can’t believe how clear the water is here,” Ashe marvels as she sloshes in beside him. “It’s like everything is made of liquid glass.”

“Our fishermen keep the shores free of the debris,” Petra explains as she tugs his hand gently to follow her deeper into the water. “You can swim without worrying.”

She pauses to shrug off her tunic, throwing it so that it joins the pile of clothes on the sand. She contemplates throwing off her breastband too, but decides with a bit of a smirk to spare Ashe once she hears coughing and the splashing of water behind her. 

“Come now,” Petra teases as she turns back in the water, the waves licking her powerful thighs as she wrings her hair free. “You can’t be swimming in a shirt, Ashe.”

“You just want to see me without one,” he mumbles, shy, but at the sight of her pout he relents and works off his tunic. He doesn’t put on a show, but Petra does deeply appreciate how he crosses his arms to pull the hem up and over his head, watching the meat of his shoulders bunch and flex under the collar. 

Her hum of appreciation does not go unnoticed, as by the time Ashe has chucked his shirt to join hers, his face is beet red. 

“You’re staring, you know,” he murmurs as he wades deeper into the ocean. 

“I’m liking the scenic view,” Petra says with a smile. She ducks her head underwater just before she catches his flustered cough, but once she surfaces, wiping the water from her face, Ashe is swimming deeper with a dopey grin on his face, kicking his feet as she sloughs after him, enjoying the tug and pull of the waves. 

They swim close to the shore for a while, at her behest so that they don’t venture out too far before Ashe learns how to break out of riptides. They’re content to swim lazily around the beach, Ashe accustoming himself to the rippling motion of the tides as Petra contents herself watching him cleave through the water like an arrow from one of his bows. 

There’s a certain grace to an archer’s frame, especially cavalry archers. The muscle is distributed evenly along the shoulders and upper chest, thinning near the waist and widening again around the thighs. It cuts a rather lovely silhouette, Petra hums to herself as she watches Ashe surface from the water with a gasp, shaking his hair out and grinning at her over the tips of the froth-licked waves. 

“Gold for your thoughts,” he calls to her as she swims closer. 

“I’m, how do you say it, hit by a star,” Petra attempts. 

“Starstruck?” Ashe tilts his head to one side, bird-like. “Why?"

“You,” she supplies easily. Her grasp on the language of Fodlan has all but deteriorated to monosyllables but she couldn’t care less as she wades towards him. “ _You’re so lovely, lovelier than the sun._ ”

Ashe smiles shyly as she comes up beneath his chin. “I’m not entirely sure, but I think I caught a compliment in there.” 

“I wish I can be bathing you in the praises,” Petra says with some frustration as she studies him. “You are a very pretty person, but I am not knowing the words.”

“You’re very beautiful, too,” Ashe replies, quietly. The sparkle of mirth in his eyes has morphed into something more grave, more adoring in its deepened color. “I’m not sure how to say the words in your language.”

“ _You’re very beautiful_ ,” she teaches him, slowly, her voice still breathless from the impact of his sincerity. When he repeats the words back to her, even the accent doesn’t bother her when there’s such warmth in his gaze. Her heart hammers in her ears, her throat, her chest, and ever the waves tug and pull at her ankles. 

“ _Spirits, I want to kiss you_ ,” Petra breathes. 

Ashe blinks. “What was that?”

“Nothing! Riptides!” she blurts, blushing madly herself as she grabs his hand and pulls him into the ocean. “I need to teach you against riptides!”

“Ah, of course,” he says, just as quickly as she all but drags him back through the waves. Soon, their feet reach the solidity of the sand, and they stand against the buffeting waves as she points out the thin, unassuming currents of water that can pull even the most experienced swimmers out to sea, never to return. 

At some point, a particularly large wave nearly knocks Ashe off of his feet. Petra steadies him with her hands on his shoulders, and as he controls his breathing and holds her elbows with a light proprietary touch, she regains some of her boldness. 

“You are very strong, here and here,” Petra marvels, touching him gently and curiously on where his arm turns to shoulder, where his shoulder slopes up to meet neck. This time, his blush travels clean down his cheeks and to his throat, which she notices after he swallows. 

“Archery needs a lot of armwork,” Ashe says weakly. “You know, pullback, string tension, and…”

“And?” She prompts him, once he trails off as one of her hands comes up to caress the back of his neck, where his hair falls.

“And the follow-through,” he whispers, as her other hand strokes his cheek, the swoop of his jaw. His eyelashes, silvery and long, tremble in the glare of the sun. “An archer’s accuracy depends on how long they can hold the proper s-stance…ah, that tickles.”

“Sorry, am I being too much?” Petra asks quickly, her hand dropping with a _splish_ into the water. “I am sorry...”

“N-no, not at all,” Ashe exclaims. His hands flutter at his side, like wings of a bird unsure yet if it wants to fly, before they come up to touch her waist. She shivers with some delight as he continues bravely, watching the emotions play out on her face for encouragement. “Stance, um, I was talking about stance?”

“Yes!” Petra replies brightly, studying the freckles that stand out on his face against the blush and the faint beginnings of light sunburn. “And I was paying close attention.”

Ashe exhales shakily as her fingers rake back the damp strands of his hair. His hand on her waist tightens imperceptibly. 

“You know,” he ekes out, “I think the professor will be really disappointed with me, because I can’t remember a single thing about stances right now.”

“Oh,” Petra murmurs as she finally slings an arm around his shoulders, his glorious shoulders. “That’s not very good. I was learning a lot.”

“Y-yeah?” he breathes as her other hand traces the trickles of water down his chest. 

“A lot,” Petra affirms. Her hand squeezes a sinewy bicep. 

“Quick question,” Ashe says in a strained voice once he’s finished hissing in sharp delight, “is this what you were after when you asked me to take off my tunic?”

Petra shakes her head with a quiet little negative, her damp hair clinging to his own skin at their proximity. “Not really? I was just thinking of your comfort. It is not nice to be swimming in clothes because of the…what is the word…”

Petra brings him towards herself, and he comes to her like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like treading water. 

“Tell me, Ashe,” she murmurs, “what do you call the movement of things against each other? I don’t know the word.”

Ashe clears his throat. His eyes are dark with emerald longing, and his fingers tighten against her waist. She can feel the callouses on her skin. 

“Friction,” he murmurs. “It’s called friction.”

“Friction,” Petra repeats, tasting every syllable. She can feel the warmth of his shaky exhale on her lips. 

She wrenches herself away. “Come, let’s be heading back to shore.”

“Huh?” Ashe stumbles without her steadying hands and clambers after her through the water. “Petra, what--”

“Because,” she says defiantly, kicking the water as if it had offended her grandfather and throwing her most stunning smile back over her shoulders, “I want to kiss every star off of your face and I don’t want you to be falling into a riptide when I do that.”

Ashe’s footsteps slow behind her, and as she climbs out of the ocean, shaking off the last of the sea’s embrace, Petra feels another smile grow wide on her face as she hears his footsteps pick up again, faster, moving through the waves with the eagerness of the beloved. 

_Thank the Spirits for an archer’s physique_ , Petra thinks to herself delightedly as he sweeps her up in a kiss as salty as it is sweet. 

.

.

.

fin 

**Author's Note:**

> cake by the ocean plays softly in the bg
> 
> Thank you for reading! I have a [twitter](https://twitter.com/clairvoyancehsu) you can follow if you'd like to hear me simp for Ashe and/or Petra in equal parts <3


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